


Merry Christmas, Love Jessie

by ThreeWhiskeyLunch



Series: Madness Because The Reasons Don't Make Sense [5]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Garrus loves Christmas, Interspecies Relationship(s), Interspecies Romance, Interspecies Sex, Kal'Reegar fix it, M/M, Orphans, Rare Pairings, Vaksani, Xenophilia, Zaeed needs a new line of work, possible parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-02 08:18:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2805806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThreeWhiskeyLunch/pseuds/ThreeWhiskeyLunch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gift giving is tricky business, but Garrus and Zaeed seem to be pulling it together without giving things like toasters or explosives and detonators. But Santa (aka Shepard) has a surprise in his bag for both of them that could change their lives forever.</p><p>Post Reaper War</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing.

**Christmas Eve**  
 **2 1/2 years after the Reaper War**  
  
  
There isn't any one thing that brings Garrus slowly from his deep slumber. The clink of an omnitool set down gently on the dining room table, a bag being lowered too slowly on the floor, the rustle of clothes, steps creeping barefoot in an attempt to not disturb. He is torn for a moment whether to tackle the man who is slowly advancing on the bed or to wait and share a sleepy, middle of the night snuggle instead. But the bed is warm and he's half asleep and he waits just a few seconds too long to make his decision. The comforter is lifted slightly and a warm, too soft body slides in between the sheets. Middle of the night snuggle it is.  
  
"If you were any louder, you would have woken the neighbors too," Garrus says, reaches out to pull the body close.  
  
"Shit, sorry. Tried not to wake you." Zaeed pushes himself in against Garrus' body, wraps an arm and a leg over him. Garrus returns the favor and tangles their limbs together further, hugs him tightly.  
  
"Mnn. Well, you failed miserably. I heard you land at the spaceport."  
  
"Oh, did you now? You are bloody amazing," Zaeed deadpans.  
  
"So glad to hear you finally agree with me."  
  
"Shut it, love." Zaeed slides his hand up behind Garrus' head and pulls him in. He tastes like cigars and coffee and something spicy he'd eaten for dinner. Zaeed swipes his tongue across Garrus' mouth and the kiss rapidly becomes desperate and needy. Before he even knows, Zaeed has him on his back and is straddling him, knees tight against Garrus' hips, chest pressed against keel bone, hands framing his face as his thumbs move gently across his mandibles. Garrus thinks for a brief moment that he can feel Zaeed's fingers tremble slightly.  
  
"That escalated quickly," Garrus gasps. Zaeed's breath is hot on the tender area of his neck.  
  
"Missed you." There's more to it, Garrus knows. Something he's not saying, that he'll have to work up to. Garrus has learned to be patient. As Zaeed has learned to be patient with him. He hopes.  
  
"I missed you, too." He slides a hand down inside Zaeed's boxers, squeezing the soft flesh.  
  
"Need you. In me. Five minutes ago." Zaeed rocks his hips slightly, one hand slipping down between their bodies to brush at the slit of his pelvic plates. Garrus bucks his hips up at the intense sensation, but the pressure doesn’t abate. Zaeed’s clever fingers continue to rub, now slipping through Garrus’ natural lubrication. It’s almost too much and he squirms against the touch.  
  
"What happened to trying not to wake me?  
  
"That was Plan A."  
  
“You’ve been thinking about this,” Garrus accuses, finding Zaeed is already plenty hard between them.  
  
Zaeed laughs against his mouth. “Just trying to get you caught up to Plan A point two.” Garrus notices too late that Zaeed’s other hand has smoothed over his crest and is now stroking his fringe.  
  
“You’re well on your way to set some sort of record if you keep doing that.”  
  
“So I should keep doing that, then?”  
  
“Uh, yeah. Just keep-oh-” Garrus groans. He’s forgotten anything he might have been doing. It’s all down to Zaeed and his hands and his hips rocking erratically against him and his tongue licking along the inside of his carapace. He needs to feel the man, runs his fingers up along Zaeed's ribs, squeezes slightly and feels him pull back a little.  
  
"Careful there, love," Zaeed murmurs into his plates.  
  
Garrus pushes him back, tries to see what sort of damage Zaeed has had this time. "What happened? Are you okay?"  
  
"Later." Zaeed is now being positively lewd in the manner he's stroking his fringe. "I'll tell you later."  
  
"You're trying to-um. Distract me." Garrus can hardly think to get the words out.  
  
"Is it working?"  
  
Garrus' body is one giant aching need and he rewards Zaeed's efforts as his plates part and his cock emerges into the man's hand. "Spirits. Fuck. Yes." He's quick to roll them over.  
  
Zaeed's legs wrap around his, feet locking under his spurs. He huffs a laughs. "Good."  
  
  
 **Christmas morning**  
  
Garrus loves Christmas. He loves the lights, the obnoxious displays, the holiday specials on the holonet, the presents wrapped in colorful packages with ribbons and bows, the overabundance of food and cookies and-"Dextro safe!"-chocolate, the garish fake trees decorated with ornaments and tinsel, the stockings hung by the electric fireplace. He loves it all. But most of all, Garrus loves Christmas music which is now playing softly over the speakers. He’d strung up some blinky lights throughout the living and dining room to make things in the apartment a bit more festive. Zaeed had put his foot down when Garrus had tried to set a small pink and white striped metal tree in the middle of the dining room table, so he’d put it off in a corner and heaped on a good amount of green lights. It's surrounded by presents that will be distributed tonight when they go to Shepard and Alenko's house for Christmas dinner.  
  
He sits at the dining room table with his Turian hot chocolate, reading the news on his datapad, humming along happily to someone named Bing Crosby singing about a white Christmas. He looks up out the window to the beach and the ocean beyond. Nary a snowflake to be seen, thankfully. The apartment he shares with Zaeed sits just north of Venice Beach, California. One of the few places they'd actually managed to agree on when discussing where to, as Zaeed had said, "shack up together." Warm enough for Garrus, cool enough for Zaeed, close to a major spaceport for both of them. And from where the windows on this side of the apartment overlooks, there's not much damage to be seen from the Reaper War. Just sand and rocks and ocean, and off in the distance a half-submerged Reaper ship being washed by the tides. It's a different story when you look out the inland windows, but they tend to keep those curtains drawn.  
  
He hears Zaeed stirring in the bedroom and goes out to the kitchen to flip the switch on the coffee maker, heats himself up a little more hot chocolate and returns to the table to see his mate standing in the living room in a t-shirt and Blasto pajama bottoms, looking blurry and a little peeved. Zaeed in the morning is always a rumpled mess and seeing him like that just makes Garrus feel terribly, wonderfully domestic and more than a little giddy.  
  
"Expected to wake up next to a warm Turian and instead there's a goddamn cold box where your body should have been." He's holding the offending box away from him like it might contain a small explosive device.  
  
Garrus puts on his most innocent expression. "Oh?"  
  
Zaeed places the box, wrapped in colorful paper and tied up with what some might consider an overabundance of ribbon, on the table.  
  
Garrus peers over at it, lifts the little tag-oh, he loves those little tags!-to read it. "It has your name on it."  
  
Zaeed slumps down in a chair at the table. "I fucking know that." He runs his hands through his hair and it's all Garrus can do to not follow through on last night's urge to tackle him to the ground. The man is just too adorable for words sometimes. Not that he'd ever tell him that, unless he wanted a good punch to the gut.  
  
Garrus' mandibles twitch. "Maybe you should open it. That'll teach it to be all present-like."  
  
Zaeed stares down Garrus. "What the fuck is it?"  
  
Garrus sighs a Very Big Sigh and shrugs. "Well, I don't know. There’s only one way find out." He can barely contain himself and he's somewhat convinced that his mate is being deliberately obtuse.  
  
He turns his stare to the box, obviously trying to activate some sort of x-ray vision he's never had. "It's too early for this shit."  
  
Garrus rolls his eyes. "Do you want some coffee?"  
  
Zaeed just grunts, still trying to stare down the present.  
  
Garrus gets up and traipses to the kitchen. He's halfway back with Zaeed's coffee when the man calls out, "Do we still have any of those ginger cookies?"  
  
"You can't have cookies for breakfast!"  
  
"I can on goddamn Christmas."  
  
Really. Impossible. Garrus turns with a sigh and retrieves a few cookies, throws them on a plate. Insufferable man. It's a good thing he loves him.  
  
Zaeed is still sitting in the same pose, staring down the box like it's insulted him for the last time. He looks up with a crooked grin when Garrus places the coffee and cookies in front of him, and Garrus' heart melts all over again. "Thanks, love."  
  
Garrus leans over and kisses him briefly. "You're welcome." He sits back down and as he does, his elbow brushes against something on the table. Thinking it's his mug he moves to casually push it away until he sees-well. A box. His heart does a little flip, because it's a smallish box wrapped in gold foil paper with a gold and silver bow on it. "Um-what's that?" He looks over at Zaeed, who's looking at him with raised eyebrows.  
  
"I dunno. Looks a goddamn Christmas present to me."  
  
"That wasn't there before."  
  
"Wasn't it?"  
  
Garrus looks back at the present. "You sent me off to the kitchen for coffee and cookies on purpose."  
  
"You were practically sitting on top of my fucking bag, Garrus. A little subterfuge never hurt anyone. I said thank you." Zaeed takes a swig from the mug. "And I really did want the coffee."  
  
Garrus feels a little nervous. Parents and sister excluded, he's never been given a present from someone as dear to him as Zaeed is. Okay, Shepard excluded too. Shepard gave him stuff, but never wrapped up in gold foil with a bow. Just the fact that it's wrapped up so well, all the corners tight and the bow centered in the top makes his chest feel like it's going to explode. "You-you got me a present?"  
  
"No. It's from goddamn Santa Claus. Yes, of course I got you a present."  
  
Garrus doesn't say anything, just looks down at the present from Zaeed. He wonders how he got so lucky, wonders why they hadn't done this-this relationship thing, this love thing, this sharing stuff thing-sooner. He wonders if there's a limit to the happiness he can feel or if he'll someday reach a level where his heart really will burst out of his chest. He realizes Zaeed is looking at him with that little bit of amusement and curiosity that is almost his favorite face he makes.  
  
"Alright, love?"  
  
Garrus nods. "Every time I think I'm not going to be surprised by you, you do something that blows all previous surprises out of the water. I think I just need to stop thinking that."  
  
Zaeed laughs, deep in his throat. "Kinda takes the fun outta it, you stop being surprised."  
  
"Oh, I won't stop being surprised." Garrus reaches over and brushes the back of a talon across the morning stubble on Zaeed's face, then leans in and kisses him long and hard. Zaeed grunts and returns the kiss, opens his mouth to Garrus' tongue as he passes it over his lips. His hand is in Zaeed's bed-rumpled hair, urging him tighter and then there's teeth and tongues slipping over each other and a moan from both. Garrus pulls back slightly, crest resting on Zaeed's forehead. "I'm just going to stop being surprised that I'm surprised."  
  
"That makes absolutely no goddamn sense whatsoever."  
  
"It does if you don't think about it. Who goes first?"  
  
"Traditionally youngest to oldest. That would be you."  
  
Garrus nods, thinking. "I've heard also 'age before beauty'. So that's definitely you first."  
  
Zaeed rolls his eyes. "We could 'Rock Paper Scissors' it."  
  
"I have no idea what that even is. We could wrestle for it. But I'd win that hands down. Hardly fair to you."  
  
"Oh fucking hardly. So full of shit. Open yours."  
  
"No. I gave you yours first."  
  
Zaeed sighs. “Fair enough,” he manages to wrangle the ribbon and the paper off. Inside the box is a note with the words-written in Garrus’ disguised handwriting- Merry Christmas, Love Jessie. Underneath the note is a single rifle bullet nestled in crepe paper. Zaeed turns a perplexed look over at the Turian, “What the hell, Garrus?”  
  
Garrus gives Zaeed a nervous smile, mandibles twitching, “Well, I took it upon myself-”  
  
Zaeed stands up quickly and strides over to the display case where Jessie and a few other guns and mementoes from both their pasts are stored. “What did you fucking do to her?” He opens the case and reaches out a hand, but doesn't touch the gun. Instead his fingers hover over the barrel, as if trying to feel energy coming off of it.  
  
Garrus follows close behind him, trying to reassure the man, trilling in his subvocals. “Well, um. I didn’t think you’d be so upset. I fixed her.”  
  
“You what?” Zaeed turns to face Garrus. He doesn’t look mad, just surprised.  
  
“Fixed her?” Garrus reaches out and picks the gun up gently to show him. “The main problem was the internal magazine, but there was also an issue with the ejection port. The alignment was off, probably from overheating. I replaced both of those, and then-well-I calibrated her-”  
  
Zaeed gives a sort of choking sound. Garrus can’t tell if it's a laugh, or a cough, or what exactly. Zaeed has a hand over his mouth and his eyes are as wide as saucers so there's just no telling. He passes the gun off to Zaeed. “The problem now is she’ll only fire one round at a time. I tried a new heatsink and that didn’t help. She needs a bit to cool down, anywhere between 12.6 to 27.9 seconds. Still haven’t been able to figure that one out. But she works.”  
  
Zaeed takes the gun almost reverently and looks it over. “I don’t-I-” he swallows hard a few times, looks at Garrus. His eyes are  shiny and he blinks rapidly. “How did you-Tried to fix her for fucking years. No luck. How did you-” He takes a deep breath. "Garrus."  
  
Garrus is grinning, mandibles spread wide. He shrugs. “Sometimes it takes a fresh pair of eyes. Or maybe just eyes that are the same color. But probably I’m just that good.”  
  
Zaeed gently puts Jessie back in the case and closes the glass door. Then turns to Garrus. “Don’t know what to say,” his voice wavers a little.  
  
“Well, maybe something along the line of 'You are the greatest mate in the history of ever and I'm going to erect a statue in your honor.'”  
  
Zaeed pulls him into a tight hug, speaks into his neck. “Nicest goddamn thing anyone’s ever fucking done for me.”  
  
Garrus’ arms come up and circle around him. He nuzzles into the man’s shoulder. “You’re welcome. Can I open my present now?”  
  
Zaeed doesn’t say anything for a moment, hands fisted into the back of Garrus’ shirt. “In a minute.” His voice is definitely rough.  
  
Garrus just sighs and closes his eyes, purring quietly. His fingers trace up Zaeed’s spine to find the rough edges of the bite mark at the crook of the man’s neck. It had worried him when the wound hadn’t healed over quickly, but Zaeed had been adamant that there would be no medigel on it. So Garrus had acquiesced, providing it didn’t get infected. There had been other bites since, but they had all been treated and so none of them stood out like this first one. Garrus always felt a little bit of a thrill in the base of his spine whenever he touched it, or even caught a glimpse of it. Zaeed had been so confident that this was what he wanted, hadn't expressed doubts since. Garrus continued to be amazed at what had transpired. They had fallen in together like pieces of a puzzle cut from different materials, made to fit together.  
  
Zaeed clears his throat and steps back, looks him in the eye. Then he winks and takes his hand to lead him back to the table. He gives him the present, guides him over to the sofa where they both sit. “Open the fucking thing.”  
  
He peels the paper off slowly. Inside is a black velvet box with the stamp of a jeweler that Garrus recognizes from the Citadel. The box creeks open at the hinge as he opens it. Inside are two matching bracelets, leather straps loosely braided through with thin titanium metal strands. Garrus stares. One is bigger than the other.  
  
Zaeed takes the larger one out and fiddles with the clasp. “On Earth, there’s a custom that some people follow where they exchange rings when they get married. Seeing as how I don’t see either one of us wearing rings, I thought this might make for a good replacement.” He takes Garrus’ wrist and secures the bracelet around it. He doesn’t let go, but he does look up at Garrus and he can’t be certain, but wonders if there is some uncertainty in his eyes for a moment.  
  
Garrus fingers the bracelet, tracing along the braiding. It’s a beautiful work of craftsmanship, the leather and metals intertwining over each other. It makes him think of the two of them, hard and soft together. He reaches out to the other smaller bracelet when he sees there’s something stamped on the inside leather strap. Two strings of numbers with a couple letters and a few odd marks mixed in. “What’s that mean?”  
  
“Latitude and longitude,” Zaeed says gruffly. “The resort in Anguilla. It’s on yours too.”  
  
“Oh.” Garrus has to remember to breathe. Zaeed is still looking at him like he’s not quite sure this was a good idea. “You-” He’s not often at a loss for words, but this has done it. So he takes the other bracelet and fumbles with the finicky parts, trying to undo them. His heart is pounding and his fingers are stupidly trembling. “I can’t get this undone and I love you so much right now I can’t even think straight.”  
  
Zaeed laughs and it seems like some tension in the air dissipates. “I got it.” Garrus watches him fasten the bracelet around his own wrist, then reaches over to rub a finger on it.  
  
"I take back what I said about not being surprised about being surprised."  
  
"Well, it was good while it lasted."  
  
Garrus leans in and gives him another lengthy kiss, slips his tongue in to rub over teeth. Zaeed sighs, opens to him willingly. He gathers the man to him, slides his hands slowly over his back. He rubs his crest over Zaeed's forehead and neck, down to his shoulders, hears him moan softly as his musk is released.  Zaeed tips his head from side to side as Garrus rubs him over, nearly preening against the Turian. _And isn't that just the sexiest thing ever._  
  
"Mnn, love. I missed you. Missed this."  
  
He hums in agreement, let's his subvocals express his love for the man. "You weren’t even gone four days."  
  
"I know, but I-" Zaeed pulls away slightly, his hand covers his. "I very nearly didn't come home alive from this one." Garrus looks up, startled. "Yeah, I was afraid you were going to give me that look. Goddamn Batarian got lucky, got off two shots that managed to hit in the same spot, took my shields down. Hit me right in the goddamn chest. Only thing that saved me was a fucking tarp the arsehole tripped over. Next shot went wide.”  
  
He pauses, lost in his thoughts for a moment. "He was a right bastard. Deserved more than just getting brought in by me for the bounty. Had an entire goddamn shipping crate loaded with kids. Just kids. For slave trade or worse. Didn't seem particular about species, either. When I saw that-fuck. You know, when Shepard started up his goddamn charity orphanage after the Alliance retired him I thought he was nuts. But seeing that, trafficking in just kids? Who the fuck does that? Kinda made me think about-well." He stops and looks at Garrus with a sort of searching gaze. Garrus wonders what he's thinking, is about to ask, but then he says, "Nevermind."  
  
He grips Garrus' fingers a little tighter. "Been in shittier firefights. Been a helluva lot closer to not making it out in one piece. But it makes me wonder how long my luck will hold out." He takes a long pause, studies their hands, thumb moving over rough plating.  
  
"You don't believe in luck."  
  
"No. I don't." But Garrus understands. Even thinking that there's only a certain amount of luck, it gets in a person's brain and weasels around, completely fucks up the head space needed to make choices. A deadly problem.  
  
"I was thinking-"  
  
"That must have hurt."  
  
"Two grindstones rubbing together." Zaeed's smirk turns serious. "Garrus. I don't want to do this anymore."  
  
"Don't want to do what exactly?"  
  
"Bounty hunting. Merc for hire shit. I didn't survive killing reapers just to be taken out by some goddamn bounty that gets lucky."  
  
"Oh! Well, then. Don't."  
  
"I'm tired of being shot at."  
  
"That's kind of the deal when you're a bounty hunter, or so I've heard from someone who likes to tell long, rambling stories."  
  
"And I-" Zaeed's gaze remains on their hands, meshed together in a way that should have been awkward-three fingers and five left some overlaps-but only felt natural to Garrus. Zaeed remains silent and so he gives him the time he needs to put his thoughts together. Finally he looks up, sadness and longing and something else Garrus can't identify on his face. "Goddamn long time since I've had something-someone to live for. Half my life. Hell, more than half." Garrus realizes that Zaeed's fingers are trembling, squeezes his hand in reassurance. "I was so fucking pissed when that bastard nearly got me. I nearly lost out on this, on you. Just as I'm beginning to kinda like your ugly face-"  
  
Garrus snorts and Zaeed's mouth curves into a smirk.  
  
"It's just that I need you to know-"  
  
"I know."  
  
"I know you do, but I need to fucking tell you. I don't want anyone else." He takes Garrus' hand and moves it up to the scar at his neck. "This makes you mine as much as it makes me yours. Don't want it any other way. I’d like to spend a bloody long time with you if you'll tolerate me. And I don't want to hunt goddamn bounty anymore or be a hired gun."  
  
Garrus tugs Zaeed back in and rests his crest on the man's forehead. "I don't want it any other way either."  
  
Zaeed's hand comes up to hold the back of Garrus' neck and they sit like that for a few long minutes, breath mingling in the air between them. He hears Zaeed swallow before he whispers, "Fucking scared the shit outta me, Garrus."  
  
It explains some questions he had in his mind after last night. Zaeed's hungry need, the tenderness on his ribs, the trembling of his hands as they framed Garrus' face. He feels gratified that the man is opening up to him, even though it might make him seem vulnerable. Garrus rumbles a reassuring purr in his subvocals, hoping Zaeed can make out the intent behind it. "You don't need my permission."  
  
"No. Trying to get better at telling you the important shit."  
  
"I got that. You're doing good." Garrus purrs again and then jokes, "So I hope you meant that figuratively, because if you really did shit your pants I'm not touching your laundry with a 100-meter pole." Zaeed being so serious has him a little off kilter and he feels the need to lighten the air a little.  
  
Zaeed pulls back a bit. "I've seen the way you do laundry, Vakarian. You're not touching mine, shit or no shit."  
  
"What's wrong with the way I do laundry?"  
  
"Do lights and darks mean anything to you, Garrus?"  
  
Garrus huffs, then shrugs. It's true. He throws it all in together. "So what're your plans instead? Laying around eating bonbons? Maybe taking up knitting? Oh! I know! Fixing the leaky faucet?"  
  
"Well, I was thinking maybe as a Spectre, you'd need a loyal sidekick."  
  
"Only if we both get to wear capes. And I get to call you Boy Wonder."  
  
"You call me that now, love," Zaeed jokes.  
  
"Well sure. In private. This would be in public."  
  
"I could live with that." He sits back, still holding onto Garrus' hand. He looks up at the ceiling like he might find the answer there. "I dunno. After the war, I just kept at it. It's all I know. Been wracking my brain-"  
  
"See again, working with malfunctioning equipment. That just has to hurt."  
  
"You really are on a fucking dangerous road there, Vakarian. Keep insulting me. Go ahead. I know your goddamn weakness." His hand slides down to Garrus' leg which puts him on alert. Not many know a Turian's one ticklish spot. Zaeed's hand is inches away.  
  
His eyes grow wide in alarm. "Don't you dare, Massani."  
  
He dares.  
  
\-----  
  
Garrus lays on his back on the big bed, one arm held down by Zaeed's tight grip, the other holds his lover's ass as he hilts inside him, a leg slung up crosswise over his shoulder. Zaeed's thrusts are measured, controlled, holding back just enough to keep them both on the edge. He's taken his time to get them here, building them both up slowly. A very pleasant counterpoint to the previous night's furtive rush. Zaeed grins down at him, their gazes locked together. "C'mon, love."  
  
Garrus shakes his head, holds his breath, closes his eyes and runs through the specs of the Mako's engine. He hears Zaeed puff a laugh above him and he shifts his leg out just a bit and his hips snap so that his cock hits that bundle of nerves just so, and-oh! fuck it feels so good-but he's not going to come first damnit. He shakes his head again. "No."  
  
Zaeed grunts, shifts again, sliding down to lay on his side with Garrus' feet now dangling over his hip. One hand slips under his head beneath his fringe, toying with the tender flesh there. Garrus turns his head so he can look at Zaeed, purrs deep in his subvocals. His mate takes his cock, slick and hard and dripping, in his hand. His hips thrust a faster, more erratic pace.  
  
"Shit. Zee."  
  
"Fuck. Yeah." Oh, he’s close. He can hear it in the man’s gasp. He stretches his neck, pulls Zaeed in for a sloppy kiss, flicks his tongue along the man's jaw. Zaeed’s grin is wicked, "Fucking sexy Turian."  
  
His mandibles flutter with pleasure, but it's time to press his advantage. He’s not about to lose this game. Garrus takes a deep breath, clenches his muscles around Zaeed, begins to mentally tick off C-Sec arrest codes. _SD-19: conduct unbecoming; SD-20a: loitering; SD-20b: public nuisance; SD-21: disturbing the peace-_  
  
Zaeed gasps again and his eyes lose their focus, “Fuck! Shit-” Garrus squeezes tighter as Zaeed’s hand is now grasping at his tender waist- _oh spirits!_ -fingers digging in for purchase. He gives a wordless cry and thrusts hard into Garrus, sweat dampened skin slapping against plates. He loves to watch Zaeed come undone; to see the abandon in his face, hear his guttural moans when he finally lets go, feel the muscles in his body shake and jerk. Zaeed breathes heavily through his orgasm, eyes closed as his body shudders. He pulls himself tight against Garrus, nose pressed against plates, panting. Garrus waits, hand now fisting the base of his aching cock, over-ready for his own release. He smiles broadly when Zaeed opens his eyes after a few moments and gives him his own unfocused, satisfied grin. "Fucking hell, Garrus."  
  
"C-Sec arrest codes for the win."  
  
"Goddamn."  
  
"I told you. You'll never beat it. It's the most boring shit in the traverse." He gives his cock a firm stroke. "Can we, uh-"  
  
Zaeed wraps a hand around Garrus'. "Yeah. How do you-"  
  
"Just get me off. Please. Now."  
  
Zaeed brushes his hand away to take over and it's a matter of a few firm strokes and his hips thrust up, seed spilling over his mate's fingers. Zaeed leans over him for a kiss and he milks him through the tremors, tongues twisting, slipping over each other as the kiss grows lazy. Garrus hugs his mate to him, head spinning with delicious delirium. Eventually Zaeed reaches around to grab a few tissues, cleans them up a bit, ties off the condom. They both relax back on the bed, legs tangled together.  
  
"So what did you-"  
  
"Field stripping a rifle."  
  
"Ah."  
  
"It was working too, until you squeezed the fuck outta me."  
  
Garrus laughs. "Liar. You were gone before that."  
  
"That doesn't sound right,” Zaeed frowns. “But it's Christmas. I'll let it slide."  
  
"Magnanimous bastard."  
  
"Oh, yeah. Babe. Talk sexy to me," Zaeed jokes.  
  
Garrus hooks a talon in Zaeed’s bracelet to gently pull at it until the inside of Zaeed’s wrist is against his mouth. He breathes deeply of the man’s scent; a mixture of cigars and sweat heavily over-layered with Garrus’ spicy musk and now a leathery, metallic smell from the bracelet all on top of that essence that is solely Zaeed. He kisses the wrist and releases it to lay on his chest. “Can I ask you something?”  
  
Zaeed has been watching him intently and now he sees a shimmering spark in his eye. “After that little display? You can ask me any goddamn thing you want. Jesus fucking Christ, Garrus. I think you might have discovered a new kink.”  
  
“Smelling your wrist? Really?”  
  
“Fucking hot, love. Whatever that was.” Zaeed’s grin is pure lusty desire. He looks like he's about ready to have another go at Garrus, which is something considering what they were just doing and for how long they were doing it.  
  
Garrus hums, his hand covering the one resting on his chest. “Huh. Well, that's going on the list then.”  
  
“Definitely goes on the list. What’s on your mind?”  
  
He’s debated whether or not to bring this up, but in the interests of discussing the important shit, he feels like it’s something he would like to delve into. “You were kinda, I dunno, weird? when you gave me the bracelets.”  
  
“I was weird? What the fuck does that mean?”  
  
"Yeah. You know. Unsure. It wasn't like you. I just wondered why."  
  
Zaeed shifts a bit, props his head up on his hand. Garrus guesses he probably hadn't noticed feeling out of sorts at the time. The man shrugs. "I dunno. I'd been thinking about getting them for a while, since I happened to see them in the window of the jeweler's. When was that? Soon after they reopened the Citadel. Four months ago? Doesn't matter. I don't stand on ceremony, can't be bothered. But I wanted to give you something that would mean something, not just any old rubbish. I guess I didn't think about Turian customs until the day I picked them up. Got me thinking. Would you even wear it? Didn't know if you'd like it. Maybe it made me a bit nervous. Could have gotten you a new rifle. Pretty sure you'd have like that. Would have been the easy way to go. So."  
  
His voice trails off and Garrus looks at him, curious and teasing. "What kind of rifle?"  
  
"I didn't actually look at any." Zaeed pushes himself up. "Fuck. Are you telling me-"  
  
"No. Sorry. Joke. Forget I said anything." Garrus tugs him closer so he's against his side. "I want what you gave me. I like this. Especially the thing about the resort on the inside. Did you even notice how I reacted when you gave it to me? Spirits, you're gullible."  
  
"Never have been before," the man mutters into Garrus' plates.  
  
From the dining room, there's a ping on one of their omnitools. Five seconds later, there's another ping. Zaeed lifts his head and rolls his eyes at Garrus. "A hundred credits says the first one was from Shepard reminding me to bring the rum cake. And the second was from Alenko reminding you to tell me that swearing is not allowed in their rugrat infested household."  
  
Garrus taps Zaeed on the cheek. "Be nice."  
  
"There are twenty-nine kids in that goddamn house!"  
  
"There are six. Orphans. Be nice."  
  
"Seems like twenty-nine. They swarm like rachni," Zaeed grumbles. But Garrus knows it's all for show. Zaeed's coat pockets are probably already loaded with an assortment of levo and dextro candy. He never visits the Shepard/Alenko household without so it's no wonder the kids all swarm around him. He also knows Zaeed has presents for all six-Human, Turian and Batarian alike. They've been wrapped up and under the white and pink metal tree for several weeks. "What time do we have to leave?"  
  
"Around three."  
  
Zaeed pulls the covers up over their bodies, encourages Garrus to roll up against him so that he sprawls half over the man, head pillowed on his shoulder. "Mnn. Good. Warm Turian."  
  
Garrus trills happily and hugs the man tight, tangles their legs together. "Soft, squishy Human."  
  
Zaeed sighs.  
  
Garrus hums with contentment, subvocals in a loud purr.  
  
Zaeed grins at him. "Yeah, that's the stuff. Best goddamn Christmas ever."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kal'Reegar fix it ahead.

**Christmas Day Evening**  
Shepard/Alenko Household; Vancouver

  
  
Shepard stands up at the head of the table with the aid of his chair arms and dings his fork on his wine glass. That he leans a little bit on the edge of the table would go unnoticed by some, but Garrus can see it. He’s gotten better, Garrus knows. But Shepard has never fully physically recovered from that day on the Crucible. A body can only take so much really. Being dead, being nearly dead. It’s amazing the man is alive at all, much less able to stand. But he’s there, at the table, looking very proud and pleased with the mayhem in front of him. It's a long table, specially made to fit into their house for occasions such as this. It's top is fully loaded with food and it's sides are packed shoulder to shoulder with guests and squirming children. But when Commander Shepard-now Captain (Retired)-wants the attention of the crowd, he gets it. Laughter and chatter around the table is quickly subdued. All eyes turn to him.  
  
"Hey, so. Welcome everyone. Just a couple things that I think should be made known before we dig in. Dextro food is all on the red serving dishes, so please beware. Thanks to Tali and Reegar for cooking all of the dextro for us." He bows a bit to Tali, who waves from the other end of the table. Reegar nods over the head of their newborn daughter. "And thanks to Kaidan's mom, Marcia, for helping get everything else made. God knows it's a madhouse around here on a normal day. We couldn't have done it without you." Kaidan's mom smiles up at him, then returns her attention to the two children she is sitting by.  
  
"Also, a couple congratulations are in order. First to Tali and Reegar on the birth of their little girl, Fint."  
  
"Hear, hear!" Kasumi raised her glass. She's been named honorary aunt and has apparently taken on her job of the loud, obnoxious relative very seriously.  
  
"Also a big congratulations to James, who will be taking command on his own ship in a few weeks. According to Hackett here, you were the only name mentioned when it came time to find a new skipper for the Normandy. So between that and his new fiancee, I think he’s going to be keeping pretty busy."  
  
There are gasps and cheers around the table, applause from all. James' face turns several shades of red and bright pink. "Alright. Alright. Cut it out." But he's so obviously pleased and his new fiancée sitting next to him, blond and pale and sharp as a tack-from what Garrus has been able to ascertain-smiles broadly right along with him. "I'm holding each and every one of you responsible for Rachel while I'm off world. Ow!-" James rubs his ribs where she's jabbed him with a sharp elbow. Garrus likes her already.  
  
Shepard turns his gaze to Garrus and his smile widens. "For those of you who have been living under a rock, you might not know that Garrus and Zaeed are an official thing-"  
  
"Bloody hell, Shep."  
  
"Language!"  
  
Zaeed turns his glare to Kaidan. "What? I didn't say fuck."  
  
"Oh for god's sake. Why do I even bother?" Kaidan reaches over and covers one of the children's ears.  
  
There's a giggle across the table and Garrus sees Zaeed wink at the Turian fledgling, Hanla.  
  
"As I was saying, they seem to have tied the knot, or tied one on, or whatever it is two beings do to make themselves attached to each other. So good luck to you both. I think you're gonna need it."  
  
James cups his hands over his mouth and bellows, "Speech!"  
  
Zaeed holds up both his hands one in front of the other, middle finger raised in the back. "I've got your speech right here." But it's said with a silly grin on his face. He turns and looks at Garrus, who flares his mandibles wide back at him. Garrus has a hand on the back of Zaeed's chair and rubs a finger lightly on his shoulder. Zaeed leans a bit closer.  
  
"So, if that's it-"  
  
"I have an announcement," Steve says from the far end of the table. He looks over with a very big smile at the man sitting next to him, who’s looking back at him with a mortified, wide-eyed expression. “Mark and I got engaged yesterday. So save March 2nd on your calendars.”  
  
There’s a chorus of “aw’s” from around the table. James jumps up to give him a bear hug, then hugs an embarrassed Mark as well, clapping them both on the shoulders. Garrus feels Zaeed sneak an arm across him to poke at Jack who is sitting on his other side. “You owe me two hundred,” he whispers to her.  
  
“I do not!” she whispers back. “I didn’t take that bet, you fuckhead.”  
  
Zaeed laughs. “Liar.”  
  
Garrus shakes his head. Apparently these two are still up to their little games of betting on who stays with whom and for how long. He pushes Zaeed’s arm down. “Cut it out. You guys need to grow up.”  
  
“Says the man who bet that James would come out of the closet after Steve broke up with that wanker Angel,” Jack whispers.  
  
Garrus ducks his head, pulls his mandibles in tight. “Yeah, well. I'm still not certain I'm entirely wrong about that.”  
  
Zaeed gives a snorting laugh. “I want to be there when you tell him that in front of his fiancée.”  
  
Garrus reaches down and covers Zaeed’s hand with his, then leans over and nudges him on the shoulder with his crest. “God, you two are fucking gross.” They both ignore Jack.  
  
The dinner passes in a blur of food and drink and more food, laughter and happy chatter from one end of the long table to the other. After the meal there are presents, mostly for the children, but everyone gets something.  It takes some time to get through all the gifts and for a while the living room is the center of exuberant chaos. The sheer mass of wrapping paper and ribbons that covers the floor gives Garrus a little thrill. Children and adults alike express delight over presents, toys are assembled, and hugs of thanks are dispersed.  
  
Garrus gloats over his own little cache of presents; a travel mug from Samara, enough dextro chocolate to last a year from Steve, a sniper rifle mod from Shepard, a bottle of dextro whiskey from Jack-who said she taste tested it and it passed and he doesn't put it past her to have done so, a book of Krogan poetry from Grunt, a disc of Quarian dance music from Tali. Zaeed mostly has bourbon bottles in front of him, which he seems pretty pleased about. There's even one in a wooden box with an old looking label on it from Shepard that Zaeed had gone all gruff and red-faced about when he opened it.  
  
Someone has stoked the fire in the fireplace and Garrus sits on the floor next to it with the eldest human child, Owen. There's a chess set-a gift to the boy from Chakwas-between the two of them and Owen is thoroughly beating the pants off him. Zaeed sits in an overstuffed chair in the corner talking to soon-to-be retired Admiral Hackett. The fledgling girl Hanla is resting on Zaeed's lap, relaxed against his chest, one arm holding onto the Seriously Supreme Saturator water gun that she received from Zaeed. Her other hand is occupied by playing with the bracelet on his wrist. Garrus gets a strange feeling in his gizzard, seeing Zaeed with the child. Since when has he been so comfortable around children? But thinking back over their interactions with the children that Shepard and Alenko have brought into their house, it seems to him that Zaeed has never not been comfortable with kids. Garrus is more than a bit surprised that he hasn’t noticed this before now. Even thinking over the presents his mate bought for the adopted children, Garrus realizes he tailored each one to the individual child. How long had it taken him to come up with gifts for each of them?  
  
"Your turn, Uncle Garrus." Owen is pulling at his sleeve.  
  
"Huh? Oh, sorry." His mind is still focused on his mate and he moves a pawn only to realize-  
  
"Check and mate!" Owen moves his bishop quickly and pumps his fists in the air.  
  
Garrus groans good naturedly. "You're too good at this, kid."  
  
"Play with me again?"  
  
"Actually Owen, I need to borrow Garrus for a minute." It's Shepard standing over them. "Can you please help clear up all the wrapping paper and stuff up off the floor and into the garbage? Get one of the other kids to help you." Shepard has their three-year-old Batarian boy, Prezby, on his hip and looks like the definition of fatherhood.  
  
"Yeah, okay, Shep."  
  
Garrus stands, limbs popping from stiffness. "Thanks. He whooped my ass twice already."  
  
"Yeah, he does that with all the games. He's a smart kid. So, um, can I talk to you and Zaeed for a few minutes? In my study?"  
  
"Sure. What about?"  
  
"Just grab your mate and meet me in there." And then Shepard is limping off, leaning heavily on his cane even as he carries the child. He hands Prezby over to Kaidan with a kiss to both. Garrus smirks at that-that he would ever see John Shepard kiss a Batarian. Will wonders never cease.  
  
He extracts Zaeed from the too-comfy chair, displacing the now pouting child. "Shepard wants to talk to us. What did you do?"  
  
"I didn't do anything. Why do you always assume it's me?"  
  
"Because it always is you."  
  
"Point taken."  
  
Shepard waves them into his office with a "Close the door."  
  
"Look, Shep. If this is about the goddamn water gun-"  
  
"No, not at all," he waves it off. "Not that. Sit down."  
  
"Why do I feel like we're both in for a beating from teacher?" Garrus says.  
  
Shepard sits down behind his desk, a massive oak contraption that seems to take up half the room. "It's nothing like that. This is just me asking a favor."  
  
Zaeed's eyes narrow immediately. "You'll forgive me for saying, but a favor for John Shepard invariably ends up with bloodshed and body counts."  
  
"Well, this isn't that." He flicks on his omnitool and then both of theirs ping. "Have a look. And please, let me explain before you say no."  
  
"Which means we should say no and get the fuck outta here," Zaeed mutters, but opens up his messages nonetheless.  
  
Garrus finds the images of two children staring back at him when he gets the message open. One is a Turian boy who looks to be about nine or ten. The other is a Human girl and he has no idea how old she is, but she looks quite young.  
  
"Shepard. No."  
  
"Zaeed, please. This is awkward enough. I try to keep the work I do with the orphanages strictly professional and not drag my friends into it. But there's a situation-"  
  
"Heard that one before."  
  
Shepard sighs. "I know you have. But let me explain. I wouldn't be asking you if I didn't think-well, if I didn't think you couldn't handle it." His gaze moves between the two of them, lingers on Garrus. "Both of you."  
  
Zaeed sits back in his chair, arms crossed, scowling. "Well? Fucking spill it."  
  
"The orphanage is in an area of Seattle that's being razed to the ground in two days. These two-well. They're a special case. They've been in and out of foster homes. The boy, Paxton, refuses to be separated from her. Says she's his sister. He found her in the rubble of New York City. Named her Ingrid." Shepard looks directly at Zaeed. "They lived on the streets for at least a month before-"  
  
Zaeed stands up so quickly the chair tips over with a bang. "Fucking hell!" The man advances at Shepard over the desk, leans as far as he can, finger pointed mere centimeters from his face. Zaeed's veins have popped out on his forehead and neck and his cheeks have flushed a brilliant red that Garrus has rarely seen on him. "You are a motherfucking prick! I should have never told you! And now you fucking dare to use it against me. Against us. Goddamnit, Shepard."  
  
"This isn't about that-"  
  
"Like hell, it isn't." Zaeed takes a step back and kicks the desk hard with his boot, which makes Shepard jump up.  
  
Garrus watches the exchange, confused. "Zee? What the hell is going on?"  
  
Zaeed seems to remember that Garrus is still sitting, watching the two of them. He takes a few more steps back breathing heavily, puts the chair back in place, but paces behind it. He looks over at Shepard, eyes narrowed. "You know, people call you a great communicator. But I'm beginning to suspect you're just a goddamn master manipulator. You get in there, all friendly like. Get people to talk about their past, their secrets. Then-BOOM!-use it when you need to pull some emotional blackmail."  
  
Shepard sits back down, looking somewhat sheepish. "It's not emotional blackmail. Okay, it was in the back of my mind. But that's not why-"  
  
"Excuse me, please," Garrus now stands, noticing it's like some sort of weird game in the room. One stands, another sits. "What the hell are you two talking about?"  
  
Zaeed pauses in his pacing, hands on his hips. Garrus can practically feel the visceral coils of anger coming off of him. But he notices that his mate does try to calm himself down, takes a few deep breaths. "Shepard knows about my sister. I fucking told him about my sister," as he talks, his anger is quickly resurfacing. "And now he's trying to use it-"  
  
"Okay, hang on." Garrus takes a few steps toward him to get in his face, gets him to focus on him rather than the other man in the room. "First of all, you have a sister?"  
  
Zaeed seems to deflate in front of him, won't even look at him. Instead he seems to find a spot on the wall really quite fascinating. "Had. I had a sister. She died. Long time ago."  
  
"Oh." He tries to not feel hurt that Zaeed has never told him this. He’s aware that by rights he could feel a bit jealous that Shepard knows, has known for some time, and he doesn’t. He knows Zaeed has secrets about his past that he might never share and he’s really alright with that. He has a few of his own that he’s not too proud of. He pushes those thoughts aside for the moment as something that can be dealt with later. Garrus reaches out and strokes his arm. "Okay. Can you-will you tell me?"  
  
Zaeed's eyes dart briefly over to Garrus, then back to the spot on the wall. "We ran away from home. Well, I ran and she followed. I was twelve. She was six. Lived on the streets. South London. It was okay for a while, but then. Winter was fucking bad that year. Sleeping rough is alright when you don't have to worry about it getting too cold. She caught goddamn pneumonia and died. And I never-" Garrus can see the muscles working in Zaeed's jaw. His eyes are haunted as he searches Garrus' face. "And now you hate me."  
  
“Why would I hate you?”  
  
Dual-toned eyes narrow, "Because I couldn't take care of her. She died. Because of me."  
  
Zaeed can be so emotionally hard on the outside and Garrus figures it’s been the life that he’s led that makes him so. It’s difficult to come through all those scrapes with death, with betrayal, with the horrors that happen in the shitholes of the galaxy without having your hide toughened up more than just a little. This man in front of him has had to shove personal feelings aside on so many occasions it had become his way of life. That he’s admitting this fear not only in front of him, but Shepard as well, is a huge deal. There’s no way in hell he would ever condemn the man for it.  
  
"Well. You didn't mean for her to die. I presume you looked out for her as much as you could. I don't know what to tell you that won't make it sound trite. But I don't hate you. I watched you turn your back on a man you had sworn revenge on for twenty years, a man within your grasp, so you could help save innocent people. And yeah, maybe it took a little convincing, but you did it. In the months after the war, I know you worked without pay to help rescue survivors, helped them rebuild their homes, rebuild their lives. I've never seen you hurt someone just for the hell of it. You are a man with honor whether you chose to believe that or not, I believe it. You can tell me the whole story about your sister if you want, but it won't change how I feel about you. It certainly won't make me hate you."  
  
He's surprised to see Zaeed's eyes brim with tears, searching Garrus' face. "How do you know?"  
  
Garrus trills his love to the man in his subvocals. "Because I know you." And he realizes in that moment that it’s true. He knows this man to his core and he’s never felt more sure about having thrown his lot in with him than he is right in that moment. There is no doubt in his mind that he would follow his mate to the ends of space and back if that’s what it took to prove it to him.  
  
Zaeed reaches out with both hands and grips hard onto Garrus' shirt as if it’s a lifeline. "How did I-I did nothing to deserve you," he whispers, almost to himself.  
  
Garrus wants to hug him, but he’s leery of showing that much emotion in front of Shepard. He does grip his shoulder with firm fingers. “I’m sure you’ll think of something that would qualify eventually.” He looks over the man's shoulder to Shepard, who sits and watches them quietly with something close to amazement in his eyes. "So you think Shepard is trying to use your guilt about your sister to get us to take in a couple children?"  
  
Zaeed takes a rasping breath, lets it out slowly. "Sounds wrong when you say it like that."  
  
"John, are you trying to guilt Zaeed and I into taking in these children?"  
  
Shepard blinks as if coming out of a haze and shakes his head. "No. I hope that you know I wouldn't do that." He stands up, comes around from behind the desk to lean up against it. "I only thought, with Zaeed's past, that he'd be able to relate to the boy. That's all. He's a little shit, stubborn as hell. But he's had it rough. He's fiercely protective of his sister, even if they aren't blood related. She couldn't have been more than a year and a half when he dug her out of the rubble. We haven't found either of their parents or any family at all. And I'm sorry. I didn't want you to think that I was throwing this at you. It's just, it's kind of dire for them right now. They were due to be picked up today, but the foster family never showed. Turns out the couple was in an skycar accident. We could take them in here, but frankly we're running out of room. It would just be for a week or so until we can get them into a new foster home, or find room in an orphanage somewhere." He opens his omni, pings a message to them. "I'm not supposed to do this, but here are their files. Read them over. I'll leave you two alone to talk it through. Take all the time you need. And it's okay if you say no. I'll go make a few calls and see if I can sort something out." And with that he's gone, closes the door quietly behind him.  
  
Zaeed pulls away a little. "So."  
  
"So."  
  
"Ah, hell. I owe Shepard an apology."  
  
"Yeah, you do. And his desk too."  
  
"Although I think he might have inferred somewhere in there that I'm a little shit."  
  
"He obviously doesn't know you at all. You're a big shit."  
  
"Too right." Zaeed gives him a hard look. "And we've never talked seriously about kids."  
  
It’s true. They'd talked about kids exactly twice. Surprisingly, Zaeed had brought it up both times though. The first time was soon after they had settled in their place together. They'd been sitting on the sofa reading quietly. Garrus had looked up at one point, feeling Zaeed's gaze on him. There'd been something in his eyes, some look that he couldn't define. He had almost thought wistful, but then brushed that aside. Zaeed Massani wistful? Pfft.  
  
"What do you think about children?" he'd asked. And Garrus had sat up, knocking his datapad off his lap. He'd wanted to say Yes! I like them! Do you like them? We should be dads! Let's be dads! But then someone's omnitool had gone off repeatedly, insisted their attention be elsewhere and the thought had been shuffled aside and life had busied. Thinking about it later, when he was off on a mission in the middle of nowhere, he was a bit embarrassed about his reaction and relieved that he had been prevented from blurting all that out. Maybe he didn’t have to be quite so overenthusiastic towards the idea.  
  
It hadn't come up again until the day they'd been out walking on the beach. There had been a family, parents lazing on towels and a few children playing, running ransack over the sand. At some point a scuffle had ensued and one of the children had whapped a younger one on the head with a bucket full of wet sand, causing no end of righteous screaming from the victim. And the parents had ignored it all. "Bloody parents,” Zaeed had said. “Can't be bothered. Someone needs to give them a goddamn smack on the head with a bucket of wet sand." He'd taken Garrus' hand then and they'd walked on, talking of other things. It wasn't until they'd gotten back home, kicking sand out of their shoes, that Zaeed had muttered almost to himself, "Goddamn assholes."  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
"Those people on the beach. Kids running roughshod. Couldn't give a fuck. Makes you wonder, I guess. What you’d do in that situation. Certainly better than those idiots."  
  
Garrus' heart had nearly jumped out of his chest then, but he played it cool as best he could. "Something to think about."  
  
Zaeed gave him one of his hard looks. One of those looks that made him think he was trying to examine him from the inside out. "Certainly is." And that had been that.  
  
He knows Zaeed has a soft spot for children that he exhibits, but would never own up to. He's never come out and said outright that he likes children, but as he’s just recently realized Zaeed is comfortable with them in a way that makes it seem like he’s always been around them. If anything, he mostly despairs of the way children are treated by malevolent adults like the Batarian slave trader, or ambivalent adults like the ones on the beach. Children, he seems to think, get the short end of the stick most days through no fault of their own other than being young and dependant. Garrus has to admit that however much he himself likes the idea of children, he knows it would change the dynamic of their relationship. And there is a part of him that likes things the way they are; just the two of them, no distractions besides whatever the traverse tries to throw at them on a daily basis. The other part of him just really likes the idea of Zaeed and himself bringing up a couple of tiny adults. He knows he has a romanticized idea about the whole raising kids thing and the only cure for that is to actually go through it. A big step just to prove a point.  
  
Garrus grins, just a little. "No. We haven't." He tugs on the man's hand so he'll follow back over to the chairs. "I guess I kind of assumed we would discuss it. One day. Maybe. But, yeah. Today it wasn't really on the agenda."  
  
Zaeed slumps back in the chair, legs stretched out in front of him. It’s one of Garrus’ favorite views of Zaeed and if Garrus were in a different mood, and at home, he would ogle that lanky frame at his leisure starting at the crossed ankles and working his way up. As it is, he takes note to do so later. "I'm not any good with kids. I never really thought I'd have them."  
  
"Yeah right, mister lying candy pants. At least since you're bi you had the possibility of having them? I'd always thought if it happened for me, it would be adoption anyway."  
  
Zaeed shook his head. "Human female partners-the few there have been-have been known to call me paranoid. Because I always used a condom, even if they were on something. Could never stand the thought of something happening, there being a little me out there that I might not know about. Would feel responsible. Up until this point, my life hasn’t provided the most stable environment to even think about adding a dependant into the mix."  
  
Garrus reaches out and gives the man’s hand a squeeze. "Do you miss it?" he asks. Kind of an out of the blue question, but the thought blurts out.  
  
"Miss what?"  
  
Garrus waves his other hand in the air a little as if trying to conjure the right words out of the air. "The lady bits,” is all he can come up with without going into graphic detail.  
  
Zaeed's smile broadens. "Honestly? Haven't thought about lady bits in a long time. Pretty content with Turian guy bits."  
  
Garrus grins, and he trills happily. "Well, the Turian guy bits appreciate that." So does his ego, but maybe that goes without saying.  
  
"Which doesn't answer the question. What do we do about this?"  
  
Garrus mimics his mate, slouches back in the chair a bit, legs outstretched. He wishes they were home in front of the electric fireplace talking about this. In their own space, without the pressure of time looming over their heads. Not in Shepard's study, full of that desk and his ship models and wood paneling on the walls. But it is what it is. "Say Shepard had never asked us. Do you think we would eventually have talked about this?"  
  
Zaeed shrugs. "Beyond the half-assed way we’ve gone about it? Maybe. In an obscure 'what if' sort of way. And you know, love, with you being a Spectre, it might have never come up. You're gone a helluva lot. I'm not complaining, but it is a big reason I've hesitated to bring it up."  
  
"True. So what happens if we say yes, and they can't find somewhere for these two to go in a week? I'll most likely be off who knows where and it'll just be on you. Is that even something you want?"  
  
Zaeed turns thoughtful, looks down at his shoes for a few minutes, then shrugs. "I did say I needed something new to do."  
  
Oh, this man and his surprises. Garrus knows he’ll never get over them. "Are you seriously saying what I think you're saying?" He’s trying to not be excited about the prospect, really really wants Zaeed to just come out and say it.  
  
"Dunno. What am I saying?"  
  
"That you want kids? Or at least that you wouldn't mind having them around?"  
  
Zaeed shrugs again, his face going a bit red and a bit bashful and a bit dopey. "Yeah. Maybe. I just never thought-" He shakes his head, wipes whatever that look is off his face. "My dad was not the best role model. Beat the shit outta me most days."  
  
"Well, who the fuck cares about that? Okay, that came out wrong. But really. What I mean is we're not our parents. Thank the spirits. For the record, I would like to have kids someday. It doesn't have to be now. And if it doesn't happen, I'm okay with that too. But I think you'd make a really great, strange, overprotective father. And I think we'd raise very interesting children who would be completely obsessed with firearms and explosions."  
  
Zaeed smirks. "Strange?"  
  
"Yeah, like the dad that all your friends at school are jealous over. 'Your dad's so strange. He's so cool.'"  
  
Zaeed looks at him carefully and once again Garrus feels like he’s being turned inside out so his mate can have a good, microscopic examination of his innards. "This is a helluva thing. Are we really talking about this?"  
  
“I think we are. Kinda weird, but I like it.”  
  
Zaeed’s eyebrows go up like he’s a bit startled, as if he’s just realized that he likes the idea too. “Yeah.”  
  
Garrus watches him as the man grows thoughtful, retreats into himself. He gives him the space he needs to think this all through. It’s too important to both of them, too important to these children to make a rash decision. He feels a bit of guilt knowing that if they did decide to do this-now or in the future-that he won’t be able to give as much time as he’d like. He has to know that his mate is fully on board, that it really is something that he wants. He’s a bit surprised that he’s so confident in Zaeed’s ability. Zaeed from three years ago: no. Zaeed today: yes. The man has changed in subtle ways, even before they were together. He’s mellowed, smoothed out some rough edges-but not so much to take away the sex appeal-and has seemed to come to terms with his past. He knows Shepard had a lot to do with that. He hopes maybe he had some influence in there as well. Probably knowing Vido is rotting away in a Krogan prison might have something to do with that. But mostly it’s come from Zaeed himself, his own willingness to allow change to happen. Garrus loves him all the more for it.  
  
“Yeah, alright.”  
  
Garrus comes out of his own thoughts as Zaeed speaks. He smiles, encouragement humming in his subvocals. “Yeah?” He still has his hand gripped in his and gives the five fingers a squeeze.  
  
“Let’s uh-let’s take these kids in. See how it goes.”  
  
“What if they can’t find somewhere else for them? What happens then?”  
  
Zaeed shrugs, sits up a little. “Cross that bridge when we come to it.”  
  
Garrus nods. “Okay.” He releases Zaeed’s hand, brings up his messages. “We should probably look the files over.” Zaeed does the same. They sit in silence for a few minutes, going through the documents. He’s dismayed to read the way these two children have been shuttled around. Five foster families, three orphanages, several runaway attempts, all in the last two years, all over the planet. Paxton Sperstes, the boy, has anger issues, problems with authority. Ingrid Doe-last name given to her by the state-won’t talk, not that she can’t, she just won’t. As he goes over the information, one thing becomes very clear. These kids need stability.  
  
They're already crossing the bridge, standing full on in the middle.  
  
He looks over to Zaeed, sees the seriousness on the man’s face as he realizes it as well.  
  
“Garrus.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Fucking hell,” He swipes his face with his hand as if to erase the pain he so obviously feels towards these two children he hasn’t even met. “We need to buy goddamn furniture.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried, god how I tried, to not go with the kid thing. But once I realized where it would go eventually, I gave in. Still- *shakes fist at muse*


	3. Chapter 3

That the next few hours are a whirlwind is a bit of an understatement.   
  
Someone-an assistant of Shepard’s in some office somewhere probably-draws up paperwork for them to sign. Garrus suspects all the efficiency has more to do with Shepard’s recommendation of them than with they themselves as prospective foster parents. Who in their right mind would allow children to go to a Specter who’s gone a lot and a grizzled, only very recently retired mercenary? That Shepard is pulling strings he has no doubt. After a quick farewell to the party goers, they’re off to Seattle. Garrus understands immediately why the entire zone needs to be razed when he sees it. Buildings are twisted shapes of burned out skeletons intermingled with others that look decent at a glance, but are clearly unfit on closer inspection. But he knows that desperate times make for desperate measures and that someone has been living here, much less has created a group home for children, is hardly a surprise.  
  
The two children and their frazzled Asari caretakers are all that are left in the building when they arrive. They’re waiting in a sort of living room that has a few deteriorating pieces of furniture and what looks to be a cot tucked away in a corner. The Turian boy-Paxton, Garrus remembers Shepard calling him-kicks a worn out sofa with the back of his heals. The little girl-and she seems so tiny and fragile to Garrus-sits, quiet and calm, big eyes staring up at them. Paxton gives them a hard look over, then tries to stare down Zaeed. Garrus keeps his smirk to himself. _Good luck with that, kid._  
  
Paxton disguises breaking off eye contact with a frown. "Are we going to live with you?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"For how long?"  
  
"I guess that's up to you."  
  
Paxton gives him a longer, measuring look then. Garrus trills in his subvocals to him gently, to reassure him. The boy trills back, surprised and questioning. Garrus nods and trills again. _Yes, it’s alright._ The boy has his sister's hand in a tight grip. He looks at her then. "It's okay, Ingrid. We can just run away if we don't like it." She doesn’t respond, though Paxton doesn’t really seem to expect her to. She just clutches Paxton with one hand and a mangled doll in the other.  
  
"Like hell you will,” Zaeed says gruffly. “Get in the car."  
  
It's late by the time they get home. Ingrid has fallen asleep in the back seat. Paxton glares at Zaeed as he picks her up to carry her inside, so obviously resentful of him. Garrus throws the children's two pitifully small backpacks that contain all their belongings over his shoulder and grabs the bags of Christmas loot. "C'mon, youngling. Inside."  
  
"I can carry our stuff."  
  
Garrus can see the wheels turning in that small Turian brain. He looks like he's ready to do a runner right this second. "No, it's okay. I got it."  
  
By the time they get up to the apartment, the boy is nervous and fidgety, rubbing the mangled hem of his shirt with the pads of his fingers. Zaeed gives Garrus a sidelong glance and he shrugs. While Zaeed lays the girl down on the sofa and covers her with a blanket, Garrus sets his load on the floor and locks the door with his omnitool.  
  
"You'll have to sleep here until we can get you some proper furniture in the spare rooms."  
  
Paxton's face screws up, mandibles pulled in tight. "You don't even have beds for us? That’s bullshit."  
  
Zaeed gets down on one knee in front of him. Because of the scarring on his face, he never really looks like he's having much fun-although Garrus now knows differently-so having that face close up and personal isn't always pleasant for the other party involved. He's known the man to have stared down krogan with a sour look alone. To his credit, the boy doesn't back away. But he doesn't seem too thrilled either. "First of all, you should know that Garrus and I are paranoid fucks. We have quite a few enemies who wouldn't mind killing us at the first opportunity, so our doors are booby trapped when they're locked and if you think for a second that you can get out without one of the twelve goddamn codes for one of the twelve goddamn steps necessary to unlock them, then you are highly delusional. In addition large explosions will go off if you try to even open the door and Shepard will have our hides if we manage to kill you on the first night-"  
  
"You know Commander Shepard?"  
  
“Who do you think helped him fight off all those reapers? Hell yes, we know Shepard. Second, if you even think about touching any of the guns, knives, grenade launchers, nunchuks, polearms, or other weapons in this place without proper training and authorization from one of us, the punishment will be severe. Third, the head's in the back of the house by the kitchen. Dextro's on the right side of the fridge and the right side of the pantry. And fourth, we weren't exactly expecting company this morning when we woke up, so you’ll need to put up with sleeping on the sofa instead of on the goddamn street for a few nights until we can get you set up. Understood?"  
  
Paxton looks a bit stunned and nods as if he doesn't really believe that he's agreeing. He looks over at Garrus, who trills to him again. "Go to bed. We'll get things sorted in the morning." Paxton nods again as if in a bit of a daze and unties his boots, kicks them off. He settles himself on the other end of the sofa and pulls the blanket up to his chin, closes his eyes after staring at the ceiling for a few minutes.  
  
Zaeed kills the lights and leans against the living room wall, watches the kids as they sleep. Garrus locks the display cabinet-where many of their old guns and Zaeed’s collection of knives are-and goes to lean with him, shoulders rubbing together. The pink and white Christmas tree glitters from the green lights blinking on it. "Did you just tell him there are a hundred and forty-four codes needed to unlock the door?" he mutters.  
  
Zaeed swipes his face with his hand, rubs the stubble on his chin with calloused fingers. In the quiet of the room, the rasping sound seems to echo off the walls. He looks tired. "I dunno. Did I?"  
  
Garrus laughs softly and kisses him on the cheek. "Yeah. I think you did. I have two questions."  
  
"Only two? Okay. Shoot."  
  
"So you told Shepard about your sister. But did you ever tell him about RockIt?"  
  
Zaeed laughs quietly, gives him a knowing smile. "No, love. Only you know about RockIt."  
  
He hums deep in his subvocals, very pleased. "Good."  
  
"What's the other question?"  
  
Garrus pauses, reaches up to stroke the man's cheek with the pad of his thumb. "Your sister. Her name wouldn't happen to have been Jessie, would it?"  
  
Zaeed leans into his touch with a sigh, gives him a look that’s almost repentant. "Jessica Laila Massani. She liked to be called Jessie. Bit of a tomboy."  
  
“Someday I’d like to hear about her.”  
  
Zaeed leans close, kisses his undamaged mandible. “Yeah. I’ll tell you. She was-yeah. She was something else.” Zaeed slips an arm around his waist. “Sorry I didn’t say anything before. Shepard kinda drug it outta me one night on Omega when we’d both had too much to drink. Brought up a lot of ugly memories that I didn’t really want to deal with. So. Couple times, thought maybe I would tell you. But the idea of you thinking less of me, couldn’t deal with that. Except for you, I don’t give a fuck what anyone else thinks about me. I just-”  
  
Garrus stops him with a long, gentle kiss, an arm loosely hugging his shoulders. When he breaks away, Zaeed tucks his head in against his carapace.   
  
“Goddamn Turian. I love you,” he mutters, voice gruff and low.  
  
Garrus slides his talons in his mate’s back pocket, scratches lightly at the fabric. “Yeah. I know. I love you, too.” His subharmonics rumble with the love he feels. "Come on, Boy Wonder. Let’s go to bed." He takes the man's hand and leads him to their bedroom.  
  
\-----  
  
He lets them think he's asleep. Closes his eyes and pretends. He's learned that he can find out quite interesting and important information when adults think he's asleep. The lights are turned off and he hears the 'snick' of a lock being turned-he wonders what that is. He knows they're still in the room. He can smell the human man, the bonding scent on him plus a smokey smell that he doesn't know along with the tang of something metallic and oily. He hears the Turian step lightly over the carpeted floor and then low mutterings. He's more than a bit disappointed they're not talking loud enough so he can overhear. He cracks an eye open and turns his head just a bit to watch them. They're standing against the wall close to a hallway, backlit somewhat by light coming from behind them. Two tall, lean figures huddled together with their heads together like they're telling secrets.  
  
They talk like that for a while, voices low, bodies nudged together at their sides. He wonders what they're talking about, if it's about him and Ingrid or something else. Hopefully it's about buying some beds. Then the Turian reaches up and touches the man's face and he wants to yell out, "Hey! Kids in the room!" but he doesn't because then they'd know he wasn't asleep. And then, oh ew! Are they kissing? And hugging. Great. _Let's just put on a show for the eleven-year-old._  
  
Soon the Turian leads the man down the hall and the light is turned off and except for the soft breathing of his sister-and she is his sister, no matter what anyone says-the apartment is quiet. There's a green, sparkling glow coming from the corner that casts strange shadows over the room. He closes his eyes, just to rest them for a moment. He thinks about the two men, about how different they are from the other families that they've been forced to stay with. There's something about them, other than being a Human and a Turian. Generally they’d been with just Human families before, once an Asari couple. The Humans had tolerated him at first because they’d had to, because he’d insisted that they stay together. They’d doted on Ingrid though. Ingrid is adorable by many species standards. He recognizes that without jealousy. He’d loved her since the day he found her, her cries drawing him into the wreckage of a building that had collapsed. He’s the only family she’s known, the only constant in her life and she in his. He’d been willing to put up with the fawning over Ingrid. It was a small price to pay for somewhere warm to sleep, even if the food he got was usually dextro paste. But when he’d overhear the adults talking of adopting only her, of somehow trying to separate them, that’s when he’d gather their things and take them away. They stay together, no matter what.  
  
This Human doesn’t seem to be any different, carrying Ingrid around like a doll. He’d been fully expecting to get a lecture on swearing when he’d thrown one around. Instead he’d got directions to the bathroom. Then the Turian had offered him comfort with his subharmonics. It had thrown him off. And their relationship to each other seems different. He doesn't know quite how to put it into words, but it feels like maybe they're just comfortable with each other in a way that he hasn't seen before. Like they've been through hell and back and lived through it and whatever else life can throw at them is really nothing in comparison. And maybe that's true, if the man isn’t lying about fighting the reapers with Commander Shepard. And if they really had fought reapers and survived then maybe, just maybe he might be able to trust them. He won't hold out hope. But it's a pleasant thought as he falls asleep for real this time.  
  
Tonight it's the husks, coming toward him in that dark alley. Sometimes it’s his parents-forms that he sometimes has trouble remembering-with glowing blue husk eyes. Sometimes it’s Ingrid who's crying, but he can't find even though he’s searching desperately through the rubble. Sometimes it’s the rats that crawled over his body as he tried to sleep, curled up in a cardboard box. Sometimes it’s just a formless black shadow that stalks him, follows him on his heels as he runs faster and faster. But tonight it’s the husks in the alley, his back pressed against cold, wet brick as they swarm around him. He could feel their breath on him and then-  
  
His body jerks and he opens his eyes. It takes him a moment to remember where they are. There’s an eerie green, shimmering light in the corner, which he remembers comes from one of the strange trees Humans decorate their houses with at this time of year. His eyes scan the murky room, rest on the few items that decorate the walls; a framed picture that he can't make out, what looks like a set of swords mounted on a bracket, and the skull of something sinister, teeth gaping at him like whatever it is is hungry. It's dead. He knows it's dead. But still. He's too close to his dream, only halfway in reality, and for a moment his heart rate escalates.  
  
Before the big Turian had shut off the lights, he'd seen a display case off to the side and had caught a glimpse of what had looked like a couple of different kinds of rifles, plus some other weapons and what his mother had called souvenirs-things that looked like they'd come from far away. Green light flickers over the walls, the floor, the furniture, reflects in the glass of the display case. One object in particular that rests in the case seems to warm to the light, draws it in, makes it a part of itself, almost seems to be breathing as the glow shimmers. But everyone knows. Guns don’t breathe. And most certainly, guns don’t wink.  
  
Careful not to wake his sister, he slips out from under the warm blanket and walks softly over to stand in front of the glass. Of course it’s a trick of the light. This close, he can tell that the blinking shimmer is reflecting off the sight. He bends closer to look more carefully at the gun. In the dim light it's hard to tell, but it doesn't look like anything special. It just looks old.  
  
"That's Jessie."  
  
He jumps slightly at the gravelled whisper. The man is next to him, lowered down on his haunches a few feet away, his white t-shirt and boxers glowing green. He'd been concentrating so hard on the gun he hadn't heard the man. That or else the man is just unnaturally silent. He gives him a long look expecting him to be angry that he’s up and wandering around, but oddly he just seems to be inquisitive. Paxton returns his gaze back to the rifle.  
  
"Why's it in the case?” he whispers back. “Is it valuable?"  
  
The man-what was his name? he can't remember-laughs low in his throat. "Only to me. She's an old bitch of a gun. Took down a lot of pirates and mercs with her."  
  
"Reapers, too?"  
  
"Naw. She gave out before the reapers came. Now she's just my good luck charm." He can feel the man watching him, measuring him. He steels himself and looks back at that scarred up face. "Can't sleep?" he asks.  
  
Paxton shakes his head.  
  
"Bad dream?"  
  
He shrugs. He's never admitted to anyone, even his sister, that he has bad dreams.  
  
"'S'alright. I get them too sometimes."  
  
"You do?" He’s never had a grown-up tell him that.  
  
"Hell, yeah. You don't live the kinda life I've lived and not come out without a few nightmares to torment you once in a while." He rubs his jaw thoughtfully. "Know what I do when I wake up from a bad one?"  
  
He shakes his head again.  
  
"Have a shot of whiskey." The man looks at him, eyes narrowed as if assessing him. "You're not old enough for whiskey though. Come on. I think Garrus has some dextro chocolate milk we can use instead."  
  
He follows the man, curious. He hasn't had chocolate milk in a long time. Not since. Well. A long time.  
  
The man flips a light on in the kitchen and gets two small glasses and a bottle of golden liquid down from the cabinet. From the refrigerator he pours some of the chocolate milk into one and the sharp smelling liquid into the other. There's a small table that he sets them on, pulls a chair out and waves Paxton to sit. He pushes the chocolate milk over in front of him. "Drink it in one go."  
  
He takes the glass and lifts it to his lips. The man watches him, holding his own drink under his nose as if he’s sniffing it. He takes a sip and then he remembers the flavor, how much he loves it, and gulps the rest down, silky chocolate coating his tongue. He sighs.  
  
The man smiles a little, watching him. He drinks his own liquid, swallows with a gasp, the corners of his mouth pulling tight.  
  
Paxton grimaces just from watching him. "It isn’t good?"  
  
He sets the glass down on the table, eyes crinkled up in a grin. "Yeah. It's good."  
  
Adults are strange. Why drink something that makes you shudder? "Can I have some more milk?"  
  
The man nods, fills his glass up again. "Just the one. Then back to bed."  
  
"Are you going to have another?"  
  
He shakes his head. "One does it for me."  
  
Paxton pauses, looks at the milk, then back to the man. Something occurs to him. "Did you have a bad dream?"  
  
There’s a pause before the man answers. "Yeah. I did."  
  
“What was it about?”  
  
The man sighs, his head droops down a bit. But then looks at him sideways. “I was in a Batarian prison once. It wasn’t-” he swallows. Paxton can see the man’s larynx bobbing several times. “It was bad. Shit no kid ever needs to know about, even from a story.”  
  
He pushes the glass slightly from side to side with his talon. Wonders if maybe this man might understand, might not make fun of him for his bad dreams. "Sometimes I dream Ingrid has turned into a husk," he whispers.  
  
The man is quiet, thoughtful, spinning his own empty glass with his fingers. Paxton’s attention is captured by the tattoos that circle all the way up both arms. "I was there when we took the goddamn reapers down. In London. There were swarms of husks to fight off. Seemed like it would never end. One minute, I thought that was it. I was done. Running outta heat sinks. Running outta ammo. And then the next moment," he snaps his fingers, "they all just stopped." He looks over at Paxton and there's a gentleness to his strange, mismatched eyes. A sadness too. "Shepard made sure they'd never come back. No more reapers. No more husks."  
  
He looks at him carefully. He likes the way he talks to him, doesn't treat him like a kid who wouldn't understand.  
  
“Can I ask you something?” the man says.  
  
He shrugs. “Okay, I guess.”  
  
“Why Ingrid? Seems like an odd name for a Turian boy to name a Human girl. Kinda old fashioned, even for a Human.”  
  
No one has ever asked him that before. He’s proud of the name. He takes his time to consider what to tell him. “Ingrid Bergman. She was an actor in old Earth movies.”  
  
The man’s eyebrows go way, way up. Clearly this is unexpected. Paxton feels pleased that he’s managed to surprise him. “You know about Ingrid Bergman?”  
  
He shrugs. “My dad watched those old movies all the time. It’s why we were on Earth when the reapers came. He wanted to go to Hollywood and see old movie sets. The ones in the Hollywood Museum. It was boring. Then we went to New York to see my uncle. He took us to a musical. That was boring too.”  
  
“You like the old movies, though?”  
  
“They’re okay. I guess.” He doesn’t tell him that he loves them. He loves them all. Doesn’t tell him that he could rattle off names of his favorite actors, movie titles, directors, or that film noir is his favorite genre. Adults find things like that weird. A Turian kid obsessed with old black and white Earth movies is just odd, even to the Turian kid.  
  
It seems to satisfy the man, though. He nods and waves at the glass. "Drink up, kiddo. Time to get back to bed."  
  
He does and it's just as good as, if not better than the first. He licks his mouth plates with his tongue and the man chuckles quietly. The glasses are set on the counter, the milk put away and the golden liquid returned to an upper shelf in the cabinet, the lights turned off. The man guilds him back through the eerie green-lit room, a hand on his shoulder. When he's back under the blanket, the man even tucks him in like his mother used to do. No one's bothered to tuck him in since she-well, since she was gone.  
  
The man moves to stand and he pulls a hand out from the blanket, tugs on the bottom of his shirt. He squats down. "What?" he whispers.  
  
"I forgot your name," he whispers back.  
  
He hears the man make a little laugh. "Zaeed. My name is Zaeed."  
  
"Okay." He points towards the room where the Turian is presumably sleeping. “What’s his name?”  
  
Zaeed takes his arm and tucks it back in under the blanket. "Garrus. Go to sleep."  
  
Strangely enough, he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Paxton's last name, Sperstes, is a mangling of the latin word "superstes" meaning survivor.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, commenting, and for the kudos! It's very much appreciated.

**Author's Note:**

> Things in my headcanon: Turians are ticklish behind their knees. Garrus is gay. Zaeed is bi. Garrus becomes a Specter soon after the end of the Reaper War.
> 
> Bing Crosby singing White Christmas https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GJSUT8Inl14

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Podfic: Merry Christmas, Love Jessie](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7820341) by [Djapchan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Djapchan/pseuds/Djapchan), [ThreeWhiskeyLunch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThreeWhiskeyLunch/pseuds/ThreeWhiskeyLunch)




End file.
